"Yes. When I first read that letter, it made me so angry I broke out in a sweat. That prayer seems to equate sleep with death. No wonder she's afraid. How many children expect to die before they wake—because of that sinister message put in their minds? I would never do that to any child of mine!"
"She's pretty literate, but she hasn't mastered the apostrophe yet," Luna remarked. "It must have been an act of real courage to tackle the source, of her fear like that! Zane, you must answer this letter right now."
"What can I say to her? I can't promise not to take her; she might appear on my schedule tomorrow."
"But you can reassure her that death has nothing to do with sleep." Luna brightened. "Let's do it now. You can phone her!"
Zane was uncertain. "She would think it was a cruel joke. Who ever heard of Death telephoning people?"
"Who ever heard of Death answering letters? I gather your predecessor didn't. She's a child, Zane! She'll believe. A child won't be surprised by a phone call from an Incarnation. That's the way children's minds work, bless them." She hauled him back to her house and fetched the telephone and proffered it to him.
He sighed. Maybe this was the best way. He accepted the phone and called the Information operator for Ginny's city of Los Angeles, using the child's address to run down the number. Soon the phone was ringing. Zane felt suddenly nervous.
"Yes?" It was obviously the girl's mother.
"Let me speak with Ginny, please."
"But she's asleep!" Actually, it was not as late in Los Angeles as in Kilvarough, but children retired earlier than adults.
"She is not asleep," Zane said, his quick ire rising. "She is lying awake in the darkened room, terrified that if she sleeps, she will die before she wakes. Do not make her say that prayer any more. That's not the way God takes souls."
"Who are you?" the woman asked sharply. "If this is an obscene call—"
"I am Death."
"What?"
Of course she couldn't assimilate that. "Please fetch Ginny now."
Flustered by something strange, the woman backed off. "I'll see if she's awake. But if you say anything to upset her—"
"Fetch her," Zane repeated wearily. How much damage was done by well-meaning people!
In a moment the child answered. "Ginny speaking," she said politely. "Gee, I never got a phone call from a strange man before!"
"I am Death," Zane said carefully. "I received your letter."
"Oh!" she cried, whether in joy or fear he could not tell.
"Ginny, I do not think I will come for you soon. You have your life ahead of you. But if I do come, I promise to wake you first. I will not take you in your sleep."
Her voice was tremulous. "Gee—you mean it? Really?"
"Really. You will not die before you wake." That much of a promise it was within his province to make. He would issue a memo to Purgatory to make sure that he personally was summoned for her case, though she would surely be bound directly for Heaven with very little evil on her soul, so that he could honor that commitment.
"You mean it?" she repeated breathlessly. "Cross your heart and hope to—" She paused, aware of the incongruity.
"Cross my heart, Ginny. Sleep in peace."
"Gee, thanks, Death!" she exclaimed. Then she thought of her manners. "It's not that I want to hurt your feelings or anything, but—"
"But you don't want to meet me yet," Zane finished, smiling, as people were prone to do even when they knew they could not be seen. "I understand. Few people care to do business with me, or even to think about me."
"Oh, it's all right by day, in play," she said brightly. "Day is different. We don't sleep then. We talk about you when we jump rope."
"You do? What do you say?"
"Doctor, Doctor—will I die? Yes, my child, and so will I! It keeps the beat, you know!"
"That's nice," Zane said, taken aback. "Farewell, Ginny."
"Bye, Death," she said, and hung up.
"Now doesn't that feel better?" Luna asked, her eyes shining.
"Yes!" Zane agreed. "It makes me glad to do my job, this one time."
"If more people knew Death personally, fewer people would fear him."
"I would like that. What a world it would be if there were no fear of death!"
"Now we can go on our date," she said. "There's no other way I would have preferred to start it."
They returned to the Death mobile. "Where did you have in mind to go?" he asked.
"I don't know. It's enough just to ride with Death."
Zane was not entirely satisfied with this, but let it be. He started the car and drove slowly through the drizzle.
In the center of town, the headlights picked out a figure with a wheelbarrow. Zane slowed. "There's Molly Malone," he said. "The ghost of Kilvarough."
"Oh, I've never met her!" Luna exclaimed. "Let's give her a ride!"
"Give a ghost a ride? That's not—"
"How will we know, if we don't offer?" Zane stopped the car and got out. "Molly!" he called. The ghost waved her hand. "You can't take me, Death," she cried gaily. "I'm already dead!"
"I'm not on business," he said. "My watch is stopped. We met before I assumed the office. In fact, I think you were my omen, for I left my former life soon after I met you." He drew away his hood so she could see his face.
"Oh, yes—you saved me from getting robbed or worse," she said, recognizing him. "You were so nice. I'm sorry I signaled your end."
"Signaled my end?"
"Didn't you know? Anyone I interact with is doomed to die within a month."
"Oh, yes, I realized that, later. But as you see, I didn't really die."
"Well, you had a date with Death. That's usually the same thing."
Luna got out of the car. "Hello, Molly Malone," she called.
Zane froze. "Oh, no! You—Luna—"
"I can't say I like it," Molly said. "But I remind myself that I don't cause the death, I merely signal it. So really, it's providing fair warning—"
"But if you interact with Luna—"
Molly showed concern. "Oh, I thought she was one of your clients. You mean she's a friend?"
"A friend on a date with me."
"Oh, then it's already been fulfilled. The date with Death."
"Of course," Zane agreed, relieved. "I misread the signal."
"No, you didn't," Luna said.
Zane turned to her with appalled surmise.
"Don't look so horrified, Zane," Luna said. "I knew I was going to die. There are a dozen good Deathstones in my house."
"You never told me I" Zane protested.
She shrugged. "I only learned of it since our last date. Suddenly the stones were signaling. I took a stiff dose of cheer." She indicated the gems in her headband. "Otherwise I would not be very good company at the moment."
"You are using enchantment—to make yourself good company for me?" Zane asked rhetorically. "I would never have asked you to—"
"Why do you think I wanted a date with Death? If I'm lucky, maybe you will collect my soul personally, so I won't sink to Hell alone." She turned back to the ghost. "It must be very dull for you, Molly, day after day with no customers. Why don't you take a ride with us?"
"That's very nice of you," the ghost said. "Where are you going?"
"We hadn't decided. We're having a date."
"He told me. Then you don't need me along. I have not entirely forgotten the ways of life."
"It's not that intimate. Yet. Where would you recommend we go?"
"If you really don't mind my company, I could guide you to the Carnival of Ghosts. Since you're both marked in one way or another by Death, you're eligible to attend."
"That sounds nice," Luna said. She nudged Zane. "What do you think?"
Zane came out of his stasis. "You're going to die—within the month! Did your father know?"
"He surely did," Luna said. "Of course he thought I was destined for Heaven. But I have as much as two fortnights and might as well make the mos
t of them. Let's go to the carnival."
"The carnival," Zane agreed numbly.
They loaded Molly's wheelbarrow into the limousine's capacious trunk, then got into the passenger compartment. There was room for three in the front seat, though Molly's presence moved Luna pleasantly snug against Zane's hip.
"Straight ahead two blocks," the ghost directed. "Then turn left and close your eyes. Mortis knows what to do."
It seemed the Death steed had a good reputation in the Afterlife. Zane followed directions, not really caring whether they crashed. Luna fated to die—when he was just getting to appreciate her! What sort of doom was stalking him, even after he had assumed the office of Death? He had been appalled at the way so many people died; now his feeling intensified. Luna was not merely another person. She was a personal acquaintance, and perhaps more. Surely more!
"Come on, enjoy the evening," Luna said. "Do not struggle with the inevitable, wasting what time we have remaining."
She had learned she was to die—so she had prettied herself up for him. In one sense, this was utter foolishness, for she surely had better things to do in her last hours. But in another way, it was very flattering, for she had chosen to do what she chose to do—with him. He felt a warm rush of feeling, composed partly of appreciation and partly of burgeoning grief. He could love her, he realized; she was the kind of woman he had longed for all his life, without ever realizing it. What had Angelica ever been, after all, but the dream of a moment? Luna was the reality. Beauty, intelligence, artistry, courage—but what use was any of it if she died?
She was right; they must not waste what time remained. If she wanted to be happy, to celebrate—to celebrate what?—the least he could do was help her do it. "We shall make a night of it," he agreed, taking the left turn. Then they all closed their eyes.
There was no crash. "Here it is," Molly Malone announced.
Zane looked. They were approaching a complex of tents, with colorful banners flying. Loud, off-key music wafted out. People crowded around. It was a carnival, all right.
"These people look alive," Zane remarked.
"To the dead, the dead look alive," Molly said. "But the two of you are the only living creatures here. Don't let that spoil your pleasure."
"We won't," Luna said. "I have always liked ghosts." Molly approached the ticket seller. "These are my guests from the land of the living," she said. "Death did me a favor not long ago, and the woman will save the world from Satan in twenty years. Give them free passes."
"Those are good credentials," the ticket seller agreed, handing out the passes.
They passed through the old-fashioned stile and entered a broad concourse. Circus-type sideshows and knickknack concession stands lined either side. "Come on," Molly said enthusiastically. "The best thing to start with is the historical tour."
Luna took Zane's hand possessively as they both suffered themselves to be led to the embarkation station for the historical tour. Soon the three of them were ensconced in an open car on narrow tracks. It began to move under its own guidance, carrying them through a scintillating curtain.
Suddenly they were in a gloomy cave. "Lascoux," Molly announced. She obviously had been here many times before. "The famous cave paintings." As she spoke, the cave illuminated, as if from a flickering torch, and the walls glowed with assorted wild animals that seemed almost alive despite being crudely drawn. "It's the glimmering light," Molly explained. "It changes what we see, so it is as if the paintings live. That is the genius of these artists."
"Is the genius?" Zane asked. "Isn't this a replica?"
"Oh, no!" Molly protested. "This is the real cave, circa 14000 B.C. We are the ghosts."
"Literal time travel being problematical," Luna said, nudging him. Zane put his arm about her shoulders. She might be using spellstones to lighten her mood, but she was still herself. "Ghosts can go where they want, without paradox."
"See, there is the artist painting the first unicorn," Molly said brightly.
Zane looked. He saw a seemingly vast panoply of crudely sketched animals all along the wall. Most of them were equine or bovine, some overlapping other figures. Yet in the flame of the sandstone lamp, whose crude wick sent out almost as much smoke as light, these figures seemed to be a three-dimensional herd, the overlapping sketches showing not carelessness but the dimension of time. This stag would soon give place to that horse; the double picture showed that clearly enough. This was the great Hall of Bulls; Zane remembered it now from former studies.
The unicorn representation was not apt. It had an enormously sagging belly that almost touched the ground, a severely truncated tail, several huge, hollow spots, and two long, straight horns. "That's no unicorn," he protested. "It's a bicorn."
"We think they evolved into the single horn," Molly explained. "The unicorn must have had both horses and horned creatures as ancestors, and the first crossbreeds would have seemed crude by modern standards. After all, the human figures depicted in these caves are far more primitive than those of the animals; our species has evolved much more rapidly in the last fifteen thousand years or so."
"I suppose so," Zane agreed, surprised at the ghost's knowledge. But of course Molly must have taken this tour many times before, and learned all she wished. He was beginning to understand what ghosts did with their free time.
"Primitive art fascinates me," Luna said, her gray eyes flickering orange in the lamplight. She was especially lovely, here, somehow enhanced by the primitive surroundings. "All true art stems from the depths of the unconscious mind. The men of these caves were close to the natural world and they knew, perhaps better than we do, how to relate to its magic. We can no longer summon prey for the kill by painting its likeness on a wall; we have to use technological weapons or highly refined spells. To primitive man, science and magic were one—and he made them work as one. Only recently have we begun to rediscover the principle of aura that our ancestors understood intuitively. The whole cave is suffused with that awareness."
"Yes," Zane agreed, seeing it now. "I use a camera, you use paints. They used entire caves. The spirits of these animals are still here."
"No, we are there," Molly reminded him. "Today the caves of Lascoux, Altamira, Perch-Merle, and the rest are tourist traps with no soul remaining. We ghosts are trying to preserve the true spirits, but it isn't easy."
"Of course it isn't easy," Luna said. "But you must keep up the excellent work."
The cart passed through a wall, out of the cave, and into a man-made labyrinth. "The maze of the Minotaur, in old Crete," Molly said. "This is our earliest historical reference to the bull-man."
"I thought you were an illiterate peasant girl," Zane said. "You don't sound that way."
"Oh, I can't read or anything," Molly said. "It is very hard to learn fundamental skills like that after death. I just sell shellfish; it's the one thing I do well. But I've been dead much longer than I lived, and I have had the chance to educate myself that I lacked in life. I wasn't stupid when I lived, just ignorant. There's a lot to learn, simply by watching the follies of the living. See, there's the Minotaur now."
Indeed, the bull-man was pacing about his central chamber, lifting his horns and sniffing the air suspiciously, as if becoming aware of the intruding party. "I don't suppose you want the gossip about how he was conceived," Molly said. "How the Queen Pasiphae of Crete had a passion for the Bull from the Sea, who was really a sort of masculine demon, but the Bull wasn't interested in her, so she—"
"We know the story," Luna said curtly. Zane could understand why she did not want to discuss the matter of lovely women making love to demons.
Then they were out of the maze and rolling along a Roman highway. "Are you enjoying this?" Zane asked in Luna's ear.
"I haven't been on a date—in a long time," she answered obliquely. "Most men shun association with the family of a Black Magician."
"Their loss," he said, drawing her in more closely. She melted against him, and it was very pleasant.
"Maybe I can influence Satan in Hell," she suggested.
"I don't want you in Hell!" he protested. "I don't want you dead at all."
"We must all die," Molly said. "What hurts is dying out of turn." She was, of course, in a position to know.
Zane pondered that, as Luna snuggled most pleasantly close. Those were the clients he had trouble with, intellectually and emotionally—the ones who were dying early because of accident or misunderstanding or plain bad luck. A game that played itself out and was finished was one thing; its score was known. But one that was interrupted before its course was run was a tragedy. Maybe he was abusing his office by talking a potential suicide out of it, or rescuing a drowning man, while facilitating the demise of an old and worn-out person, yet that was the way he had to play it. He had precious little of a worthwhile nature to distinguish himself, but it was important to care about people.
"Penny for your thoughts," Luna murmured as they cruised through a medieval Chinese city. Zane was sure each setting on this tour was a highly significant historical event, and Molly was happily describing it all, but somehow he wasn't interested at the moment. "I don't want you dying out of turn," he whispered. "You're a lot better woman than I deserve, and if—"
"Despite my affair with the demon?" she asked.
Why did she have to remind him of that? "To Hell with the demon!" he exploded.
"Which is exactly where he went," she agreed. "I had to tell you, or any relationship we might have would be a lie. I am unclean, Death, and I will never be clean again, and you must know—"
"We've been over this before!" he cried. "You did something horrible to help your father—as I did to help my mother. How can I condemn you for that?" Yet of course he had condemned her, emotionally; he had not been able to avoid it. The notion of some gross demon from Hell sating himself upon her body—
"What did you two do that was so horrible?" Molly asked.
"She gave her body to a demon, to learn the magic that might help her father," Zane said.
"And he used a penny curse to make the machinery that was keeping his mother alive against her will malfunction," Luna said.
On A Pale Horse Page 17